A Charming Offer
by Mourshkin
Summary: 'Ten gold pieces straight in your pockets. If you'll enlist right now.' Dwalin began to shake his head and Thorin opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the soldier again. Cut off from the rest of their kin, Thorin and Dwalin are offered a place in an army of Men. They refuse - in the strongest terms possible.


The eve of the dwarvish new year, as the dying leaves fell and the nights darkened. This was the time in the year to gather with all those you cared for, to share stories and what good food and drink you had. Dancing and songs at night until your legs gave out and your throat ran dry. The morning was always spent preparing as big a feast as could be spared.

This is what Thorin and Dwalin should have been doing on the day before Durin's Day. It is what they would have been doing if they were not stuck on the wrong side of the White Mountains by an early snowfall. So they were left with their pay from the job guarding a convoy - which they had sworn not to spend, but to return to their families - in the Western most reaches of Gondor, while their kin prepared to celebrate only a few leagues North in Dunland.

All this might get a dwarf down, but the day was bright and clear and the pair had camped near a broad and lazy river. A sunny morning's walk along the river bank and some cram seemed good enough for them. That was, until the rat-ta-tat-tat of the recruiter's drum reached their ears.

Thorin and Dwalin paused in their tracks as two men and a drummer boy rounded a bend in the river and continued towards them. The pair stepped off the track to let the soldiers pass and mumbled a polite 'At your service' to the 'Good morning' of the sergeant who lead the small group.

The dwarves turned their backs on the men and began to walk away when shout stopped them.

'Ten gold pieces!' Thorin blinked slowly and turn to face the soldiers again.

'Excuse me?' The sergeant smiled, pleased his ploy had worked.

'Ten gold pieces straight in your pockets. If you'll enlist right now.' Dwalin began to shake his head and Thorin opened his mouth to reply but was cut off.

'Now don't be so hasty as to refuse before you hear the full bargain!' This was spoken with the confidence of a seasoned merchant. This line had been peddled to enough men and the sergeant was used to it working. He held up his hand to silence the dwarves.

'Now first of all, don't worry about being dwarves - that's no issue in Gondor's army, we'll take all kinds. And pay isn't measured by height either!' The other soldier laughed and Dwalin narrowed his eyes, unimpressed.

''Now you hear me out, a soldier's life is a good one. Travel, and though I'll wager you might have had enough of that if you're some of those exiled dwarves but at least not you'd be welcome where you went and paid for it.' Dwalin took a step forward but Thorin put a hand on his shoulder.

'Secondly, women! I hear there aren't many about of yours but there's always women willing when you wear a soldier's uniform!' Again the soldiers laughed and this time the little drummer giggled. 'And that brings me on to my other point - clothing!' Here he gestured to the dwarves. 'You won't have to mend and patch those worn clothes once you're in the army. Fine, smart uniform we've got. Something you'll be proud to wear!'

Thorin had restrained his cousin, but could not hold himself back.

'And what pride is there, what honour, in wearing the uniform of that I'm not allowed to remove? I've heard tell that Gondor's soldiers are whipped if they wear civilian clothes.' This time it was the soldier's reply which was cut off.

'And what honour is there being paid to fight in battles that are not my own? I would rather wear my clothes to rags that fight for any other than my own king. And I would rather wander homeless for the rest of my days than be the bought servant fighting other people's battles.' Thorin would have surely gone on but at this the sergeant drew his sword and advanced towards the dwarves with a snarl.

'Insult me again, you runt, and I'll cut off your head.' Dwalin carried no weapon but threw himself bodily at the soldier, tackling him to the ground. Thorin went for the other and in an instant both men were lying senseless. The drummer boy was shouting and banging on his drum, eyes splitting his face in terror.

Dwalin pushed himself to his feet and a grunt and glared at the boy who drummed all the faster.

'Wheesht your noise, laddie.' He growled but the boy did not. Dwalin grabbed the drum from the child and tossed it into the river. 'I said. Wheesht.'

Thorin followed his cousin's example and threw both of the soldier's swords into the river.

'And good riddance' He said, watching them sink into the dark water. A groan brought his attention back to the soldiers, who were beginning to come round. He stalked over and stood above them, looking as much like a proud prince as his worn clothes would allow.

'And do you still want to recruit us? Or will we part ways here?' He glowered down at them. The sergeant shook his head energetically but did not seem brave enough to open his mouth again. Thorin nodded and walked away along the river bank, Dwalin at his side.

-

Thorin brooded over the dark water of the river and his hurt pride. Dwalin looked up at the sky, peering into the distance. He smiled.

'I think the snow has cleared from the pass. If we set off now, we might make it back for the new year.'

'Aye. I think we might.'


End file.
